


Day In

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [20]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: Hartley drifts awake. He’s cocooned in warmth; all is dark, soft, and quiet. It’s easy to let himself lose focus and doze for a little longer. The next time he wakes, he still feels warm and lazy, but he’s more awake.“Hmm.” Without opening his eyes, he cuddles closer to Barry. His sweet speedster is asleep in his arms, relaxed and firelight-warm. When Hartley squeezes him, he purrs in his sleep. “G’morning, sweet boy.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 14
Kudos: 78





	Day In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reisho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reisho/gifts).



> This was for 'a lazy day at Barry and Hartley's place, being cute and just enjoying each other.' I hope you enjoy it!

Hartley drifts awake. He’s cocooned in warmth; all is dark, soft, and quiet. It’s easy to let himself lose focus and doze for a little longer. The next time he wakes, he still feels warm and lazy, but he’s more awake.

“Hmm.” Without opening his eyes, he cuddles closer to Barry. His sweet speedster is asleep in his arms, relaxed and firelight-warm. When Hartley squeezes him, he purrs in his sleep. “G’morning, sweet boy.” It’s the barest whisper against the smooth skin of Barry’s shoulder. Hartley’s eyes open slowly to watch his response. Barry barely stirs; only the faintest hint of a smile confirms that he heard. 

As much as Hartley wants to keep cuddling him, he needs to get up. He whispers, “Stay asleep,” as he slips his arm away from Barry’s waist. Barry makes a soft, unhappy sound but doesn’t wake. 

When Hartley returns to bed, having relieved himself and brushed his teeth, Barry has rolled onto his back and spread across the mattress like a starfish. Only through a prolonged but gentle campaign of poking and prodding does Hartley get his spot back. 

“Sweet boy. You really do take up the whole bed.” He drapes his arm over Barry’s waist. Barry purrs happily and curls into his warmth. 

“Morning.” It’s a mumble against Hartley’s neck, so muffled he can hardly make it out. Barry is only half-awake; left to his own devices, he’ll drowse for another hour or so. Given that they have the time, Hartley sees no reason to deny him. 

“How did you sleep?” 

Barry burrows his face more tightly against Hartley’s neck. “I dreamt about you. Being good for you.”

Hartley smiles. They tried something new before bed to prevent Barry’s nightmares. Rather than simply using the melt trigger to send him to sleep, Hartley put him in trance and gave him dream suggestions. They appear to have held through the night. “Do you feel more rested?” 

Barry rolls onto his back and stretches. Hartley can’t help laying a hand on his belly to feel the play of muscles under the skin. “I feel really good. Like, awake and energetic, but it’s nice to just be lazy.” 

Hartley makes a little affirmative noise. He wouldn’t mind passing a lazy morning in bed. (That’s a change of itself. Even a few months ago, the thought of not being useful would have made him fear being kicked out.) 

They don’t drift off again, nor do they really talk. Hartley traces idle patterns on the soft skin of Barry’s belly; in return, Barry cradles Hartley’s hip and rubs his thumb soothingly over the jut of the bone. For such a simple action, it makes Hartley feel safe and loved—owned, he thinks at first, and then, _No, cherished._

“We should go make breakfast,” Barry murmurs. Mere seconds later, his stomach snarls. 

“Pancakes and eggs?” Hartley offers. 

“Ooh yes please.” Barry is like a child about his pancakes—he wants them as sweet as possible, with chocolate chips or blueberries in the mix and syrup or whipped cream on top. Hartley envies him his accelerated metabolism. “Do you want me to make them?” 

“Yes.” Hartley has ulterior motives. When Barry makes breakfast, he’s prone to spontaneous outbursts of song and dance. Not only is he absolutely adorable, he has a phenomenal singing voice. 

“Oooh.” Barry rolls out of bed. Hartley is treated to the sight of him in nothing but his briefs—long legs, soft freckled skin, kissable bare shoulders. Oblivious to Hartley’s staring, Barry tugs a too-big shirt over his head and hunts for sweatpants. “I’ve been kinda craving banana pancakes, are you okay with that? Or I could do those whole-wheat ones you like, those were really good with honey…”

“Surprise me.” Hartley swings his legs out of bed. Barry is at his side in an instant, looking for kisses. He’s happy to oblige. “Hmm, sweet boy. Go ahead, I’ll get dressed.”

“You don’t have to,” he blurts. Hartley laughs and pushes playfully on his chest. 

“Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

Obediently, Barry wanders out of the room. Hartley hurriedly dons his oldest, most comfortable jeans and one of Barry’s pullovers. It’s well-worn and beautifully soft, and even months after Hartley ‘borrowed’ it, it still smells of Barry’s body wash and the hint of ozone he brings with him. Then, cozily clad, he follows Barry to the kitchen. 

He’s just in time, Hartley realizes. Barry is in fine form: two pancakes cooking on the stove, spatula in hand, belting out “Born This Way” and bouncing in time to the beat. He tries to flip the pancakes while dancing and almost drops both of them onto the floor. 

“Have I told you you’re adorable?” 

Barry nudges one pancake back into the skillet from where it’s ridden up on the side. “Not this morning.”

“Then I’m remiss.” Hartley perches on a stool at the kitchen counter. He wants to give Barry a hug, but when there’s dance-cooking involved, he’s learned not to try. “You’re adorable and clumsy, and I love it when you dance.”

Barry makes a soft, happy sound. “Um, I decided banana walnut pancakes, because what’s the point of a lazy day if you don’t go all out when you’re cooking breakfast, right?” 

That also explains the array of sweet things spread out on the counter like a buffet line: whipped cream, syrup, honey, and caramel topping. Hartley despairs. “Is this breakfast or dessert?”

Without missing a beat, Barry chirps, “Always have dessert for breakfast!” 

With one disastrous exception, the pancakes turn out golden and fluffy. Hartley eats his with a drizzle of honey; Barry tops his with whipped cream and caramel. 

“Do you want me to put something on so you don’t have to listen to chewing noises?” 

It’s a thoughtful request; otherwise, Hartley has to sit half the room away to find respite from the horrible, sticky-wet sound of chewing. “Yes please.” 

They flick idly through channels until Barry forsakes his plate of pancakes to happy-clap. “Ooooh, they’re showing Empty Child, look!”

Indeed they are; Hartley would recognize that barrage balloon anywhere. “Well, I guess we know how we’re spending our morning.”

Watching the two-part episode turns into a morning-long Doctor Who marathon. They stop for a simple soup and sandwich lunch. Afterward, rather than resume their marathon, Hartley puts on some music and lures Barry into cleaning the living room. 

“You know I could do this faster than you can blink.”

Hartley rolls up an issue of _Advanced Materials_ and swats Barry on the ass. “You could, but where would be the fun in that?”

By the time the playlist restarts, both of them have forsaken the cleaning spree to dance. Hartley pulls Barry close, twirls him around, and teases, “I just remembered—I can dance.” 

“That makes one of us!” It turns into a yelp because Hartley makes an attempt to dip him and almost drops him. “Height difference—not in your favor!” 

“Careful, or next time I _will_ drop you.” He wouldn’t (not deliberately, anyway). Judging by Barry’s little giggle, he knows that, too. 

“You’re short and we both know it.” 

“I’m not _short,”_ Hartley scoffs. “I’m a perfectly acceptable size. Not all of us can have absurd baby-giraffe legs.” 

“I can barely even hear you from up here!” Before Hartley can snap at him, Barry hugs him, lifts him off his feet, and rocks him side to side. “My tiny cute boyfriend. Little bitty scoopable…”

“I’m going to hurt you,” Hartley grumbles. He doesn’t mind being scooped like this (in fact, he quite enjoys the pressure) but he feels he has to protect his pride, however feebly. 

Barry sets him down and kisses him on the cheek—not apologizing as much as asking whether he liked it. With a begrudging smile, Hartley kisses his nose and murmurs, “Adorable.” 

After their cleaning party devolves into chaos, they end up curled on the sofa. Hartley has a new psychological journal; Barry is watching a National Geographic special about facial reconstructions of ancient remains. Hartley is able to ignore the narration only by focusing intently on Barry’s heartbeat. It forms a strong, rapid rhythm by which to read. 

“Hartley. Hartley…” 

He gives himself a little shake. Somehow, he’s flipped to an article about myelination in autistic brains, which sounds like it would be fascinating if he could remember a word of it. “…Remember how I lose focus if I listen to your heartbeat for too long?”

Barry runs gentle fingers through his hair. “I figured that’s what happened. You started nodding off and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to or not.” 

“Mmm, not really.” He shifts around so his head is in Barry’s lap and he’s able to see the television. The program about facial reconstructions has ended, replaced by a documentary about metahumans. It’s nothing Hartley didn’t already know, but he’s eager to see the spin the narrator puts on the information. “This is cozy.”

“I figured we could order a pizza or several and put on Fringe?” Barry asks hopefully. 

Hartley is going to taunt him until he sees the time—almost six in the evening. No wonder Barry is hungry. “Where did the day go?” he laments briefly before saying, “Yes, I’d like that too.” 

Barry disappears in a burst of lightning. Some ten minutes later, he reappears with half a dozen pizza boxes. “The good stuff from Coast City!” he explains happily. Five of the boxes find a home on the kitchen counter. The sixth Barry brings to the sofa. He opens it in a hurry, picks up a slice without care for how hot it is, and demolishes it in a few bites. “Ouch, hot!” 

Hartley gets up, pours two glasses of ice water, grabs himself a plate and some pizza, and wanders back to the sofa. “Silly boy,” he laments, handing Barry a glass. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Yeah, I know.” Another lightning-blurred movement and the opening notes of the Fringe theme song fill the room. Barry flops back onto the sofa, wraps an arm around Hartley’s shoulders, and cuddles him. “Good?”

Hartley wipes pizza grease from his lips before giving Barry a kiss on the cheek. “Perfect. Now, do you think you can be still?” 

Barry pretends to give it some thought. “Maybe?” 

Hartley shrugs. It’s better than a ‘no,’ and he _has_ kept Barry cooped up all day. “Well, then, let’s see what the Observers are up to now.” 

They finish eating fairly quickly but linger until the end of the episode. Once it finishes, Hartley stops the disc. “You’re vibrating hard enough that I can feel it in the cushions. Do you need to burn off some energy before bed?” 

Barry perks up. “Oooh yes please.” 

“Well then.” Hartley takes the dishes into the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher. Behind him, the door whisks open and shut—Barry must have run the empty pizza boxes out to the dumpster. 

“Well then?” Barry mimics hopefully. Hartley jumps. He thought the door would open again, but apparently Barry ran back before it shut. 

_“Well then,”_ he repeats teasingly. “You can brush your teeth and wash your hands. There’s no call for pizza grease in the bedroom.” 

Barry runs off to do as he’s told. Hartley checks the living room once more to ensure all is clean and powered off. Then he trails after Barry. (He doesn’t run, but it’s a near thing.) 

Later, as they’re curled on the verge of sleep, Hartley murmurs, “I wish we had the chance to do this more often.”

Barry curls into his arms and purrs low in his throat. “Maybe we will again. Although probably not soon. I don’t think we’ll get this lucky again for a while.”

All the more reason to treasure these last peaceful moments, Hartley reasons. Rather than say so aloud, he asks, “Do you want me to give you good dreams for tonight, too?” 

“Yes please.” Barry looks up at him, too earnest to deny. This gives Hartley an excellent view of the way his eyes flutter when he says, 

“Drop now, sweet boy.”

Hartley lets him drift for a moment. The further down Barry drifts, the more he melts into the bed. Once he’s relaxed, Hartley murmurs, “Now, I want you to think of something happy, sweet boy. A happy memory you can get lost in. Can you do that for me?”

Barry makes what might be an affirmative sound. Lacking any other indicators, Hartley will assume it’s a ‘yes.’ 

“Good. Now I want you to hold onto it…let yourself fall into it, feel what you felt then, feel as safe and happy as you felt then…and just let it play in your mind. Let yourself slip away and get lost in it." Barry draws in a little hitching breath, not quite a snore, that suggests he’s already close to sleep. Hartley rewards him with a gentle kiss. He may or may not notice, as deep in his head as he seems to be. “Sleep, sweet boy. You’re safe, and you can sleep.” 

Barry doesn’t sleep instantly. He burrows into the pillow, purrs, and cuddles closer to Hartley. Within minutes, though, he’s deeply asleep. 

“Good night, sweet boy.” As he had earlier, Hartley lets himself get lost in the rhythm of Barry’s heartbeat. He, like Barry, falls asleep quickly and has no nightmares.


End file.
